The Power of Three (Will Set You Free)
by Puppet James
Summary: The Fates decide to change the future that has been set on a path for several individuals. But how will that turn out for the ones whose invisible strings are being pulled? Set Pre-Series and leading into a completely AU first season.
1. Interlude

**Disclaimer;** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Authors Note;** Despite the fact that this chapter is called Interlude, this entire story, that will only span six chapters, is actually an interlude in itself, leading up to a new story I will soon be working on.

Think of this as the background information needed to fully understand the full length story I will soon be posting.

Puppet.

* * *

_We are all connected._

_Inescapable. Undeniable. Unforeseeable._

_Resistance is futile._

_Some, more than others._

_There are those bound so deeply, though they have never once looked upon each other, that they can feel the pain bestowed on either individual._

_And once in a blue moon, there are more than simply two, bonded so tightly that the world itself will shudder to witness it._

_One such event occurred in the month of August in the year 1996._

_Five people at different points in the world, five beings doing different things, five bonded together in ways they had yet to realize; ways that would change everything._

* * *

**Authors Note;** Do you think I could've made it shorter? :)

Hope you enjoyed it and don't forget to review, and maybe try to see if you can guess where I'm going with this :)

Puppet.


	2. Sister of Prophet

**WARNING;** Spoilers for a lot of Buffy and Angel episodes.

**Authors Note; **Now we can get started and I sincerely hope you guys enjoy this look into the first of the five :)

Puppet.

* * *

_Fifteen year old Cordelia Cary Chase was sitting on a stool in the Bronze, quietly ruling over her group of vapid humans. In the beginning of her sophomore year and already with a reputation worthy of a woman twice her age, this statuesque brunette was a force to be reckoned with._

_So much unused potential, just waiting to be fulfilled._

_Sipping on her drink and watching all the happenings of the small club, her mind went a million miles an hour; thinking of the next guy she would grant her presence to, the next crown she would ensure was placed on her proud head, the next shop she would conquer with her daddy's credit card._

_With no more than a huffy sound and a flip of her hair, she excused herself to the bathroom stalls and stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her top and adding a few more layers to her face. The remaining girls left and she was all alone._

_And then her reflection changed._

_She could only stand still, staring in both wonder and horror, as she witnessed her own face, her own body, doing and saying things that she never remembered happening._

_It was all a flash of images, sounds, running by so fast that she felt out of breath. An Irish voice, talking of Demons and love. She saw a kiss, followed by a small, blueish light. And she felt the agony, the searing grief of a death she had yet to experience._

_And then came the pain._

_Visions, she heard her own reflection say; crippling, migraine-inducing visions. She watched as her double cursed someone called Doyle, for forcing this on her, giving her something she had never asked for. And then she witnessed as these so-called visions took a hold of her and refused to let go._

_She watched herself writhing and screaming in a hospital bed as the hands around her tried to hold her down. Flashes of pain, fear, evil, went through her mind as she continued to be shocked to the core by what she was seeing._

_But none of it compared to her reaction as her double woke up and spoke such unfamiliar words._

_"I saw them all. There is so much pain. We have to help them."_

_She jumped away from the mirror when the reflection returned to normal and she was just another girl, standing in a bathroom, watching herself look back._

_She shook her head; what _was _that?_

_Her eyes blinked for what felt like a thousand times, trying so hard to deny what she had experienced. It had to be a delusion of sorts; maybe one of the girls had put something in her drink. They were always trying to undermine her authority so they could take her place at the top._

_Yeah, that had to be it._

_Finally shaking off the experience, or so she convinced herself, she steeled herself and walked regally back out into the crowded club. She tossed a cruel barb toward the shy redhead she passed, wanting to forget what had happened and get back to feeling more like herself again._

_She was Cordelia Chase, dammit, and she was in control of what happened, not some creepy, magical mirror._

_Delusion, she told herself, it was just some wacky delusion._

_But when she returned home a few hours later she was no longer so sure._

_Clad in a burgundy pair of silky pajamas, she once more stood facing her reflection, preparing to brush her hair and teeth, before bed._

_And then the mirror shimmered and shifted._

_She barely heard herself gasp as another image flashed by her dark eyes; this time she could see the physical differences that had been missing in the club._

_This version of her was a bit chubbier, more filled out in important places, and had shoulder-length curly hair, with near-invisible highlights. Her sense of style had obviously stayed fresh and worthy of a Chase, but that was where the familiarity ended._

_She watched her other self standing in a dark room, void of furniture but the lone mattress on the ground. In the corner sat a frozen figure; she recognized him from the vision in the club. He was handsome before, but now... his face was twisted in a sick blend of agony and insanity and surprisingly, the girl's heart bled for him._

_Another unfamiliar element was the creature standing directly in front of her; skin as thick and hard as steel, horns and a toothy grin. Yet, the other woman, the other her, did not seem frightened. Only... pissed off._

_And then she heard the words._

_"So... Demonize me already."_

_As the words slithered around the room, a blue light begins to build in the room and the mirror Cordelia arches back and hollers in pain._

_And then she is, again, looking back at her rightful reflection._

_What the _hell _is going on?_

_Her brows furrow and her fists clench as she tries to wrap her head around this. It can no longer be blamed on drugs or hallucinations; she'd made sure to never abandon her drinks the rest of the night and she could think of no other reason for it to be delusions._

_Was this simply part of the weirdness that was and always had been her hometown?_

_Or was it something more?_

_Before she could ponder this any further, she rolled her eyes at the now familiar sight of the mirror shimmering as it began to reflect a strange vision back to her._

_This time, her hair was still curly but slightly longer. She was standing in a fancy office, once more facing that handsome man from the last two visions. But there were such strong emotions on his face now, that she had not seen in the past two reflections._

_And then, as she expected, she heard herself speak._

_But, this time, it wouldn't just be her voice._

_"We take what we can get, Champ, and we do our best with it. I'll be seeing you."_

_The other her smiles through her tears as she turns to walk out of the fancy office. But from the look on her face, the one watching is unsurprised by what happens next, as the vision woman stops, turns around and quickly walks back to the strange man._

_"Oh, what the hell. One for the road?"_

_She watches herself, with a smirk on her face, passionately kiss the salty goodness, one that is feverishly returned by the tall hunk of handsomeness. In the background she can hear a telephone ringing and grumbles at the interruption._

_"You know, um..." the man speaks, for the first time, with a deep voice. "I don't... I don't need to get that."_

_Her other self calmly straightens the man's tie. "That, you have to get," she says, with a soft, but sad, smile. But before the stranger can reach the phone, she hits him with her parting words. "Oh... and you're welcome."_

_When the other woman leaves the room, Cordelia expects to return to an image of herself, her current self, but she stays locked in the vision as the man answers the phone with a curt hello. As she listens to his side of the conversation, horror slowly grows on her face._

_Instinct tells her what isn't being said._

_"Did she, um... she never did wake up? I see." He hangs up and looks at the spot where she was standing just moments before. And as he utters his final words the mirror shimmers and the image is gone. "Thank you."_

_Only when she is once more seeing her sleep-clad self, does she realize that there are tears streaming down her face; and for what? An image in the mirror? A delusion?_

_But instinct won't abandon her now that it has slammed into her with frightening certainty; there is no delusion, no pill slipped into her drink, no nightmare brought on by bad shellfish. There is only the truth._

_This is her future._

One month later...

The bell jingled and shook above the door as she stepped into the tiny shop, hidden in between two tall structures in an alleyway. It wasn't so long ago that she wouldn't have dared show her face in a place like this, just for fear that she might be found out.

Everything had changed.

She clutched her purse to her side as her eyes scanned the interior, wondering if this would be another dead end, just like all of the others.

One month, she had searched for answers, one month, and she had gotten nowhere.

The images of that night were burned into every crevice of her mind, leaving her twisting and turning, desperate for sleep due to the nightmares. There was never anything new and the mirrors stayed mirrors, but she hadn't forgotten.

Not for one moment.

It hadn't taken her long to decide she needed answers, less than a day in fact, but it hadn't been an easy start. After all, up until that fateful night she hadn't had a single clue that there was more to the world than most were aware of.

So where was she supposed to begin?

Cordelia had made her way to the public library the next day, clad in a fake wig, large sunglasses and the clothing her grandmother gave her each year that she never wore because it wasn't designer. She had spent the entire afternoon being paranoid, jumping at each sound she was sure she heard, before leaving just before dinner would be on the table at home.

She hadn't found a single answer to her questions.

That night she lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep as she tried to come up with other ways to get to the truth. By now she had thoroughly admitted that what she had experienced was _not _a delusion, something that hadn't been easy for her to come to terms with, but what did that help when she could go no further down that particular road?

But as she listened to the sounds of her father boning his mistress, her mother getting drunk in her room, and the staff cleaning up downstairs, she began to drift off to sleep and had a surprising thought.

To go through all of the rumors she had heard over the years and find the hidden meaning between the lines.

So that's what she did the next morning.

Sorting the debutante rumors from the ones she heard in school, from people other than her faithful sheep, she narrowed her search down to three places right there in town; a bar called the Alibi Room, which she had decided to stay away from during opening hours, a strange pyramid tomb in one of the many cemeteries, and the small store in the main square that dealt in magical paraphernalia.

Mixing the rumors she'd heard her whole life, with her own realizations after seeing her future, and adding a dash of intelligent deduction, she had come to her three choices. Based on football players speaking of strangely looking people exiting and entering the small bar in town, on couples parking in the cemetery who heard strange noises from the tomb, and...well, that last one was pretty obvious.

Cordelia's first stop had been the magical shop and, so far, it had been her only stop; because she had found what she was looking for.

Anita Price, the owner and sole saleswoman, instantly recognized the lost look on the brunette girl's face. Without telling her of the odd visions she had, choosing to keep those to herself for now, she managed to get across her curiosity with this strange new world.

Anita had taken pity on the confused girl and decided not to give her the usual sales pitch, instead telling her the truth of the world she lived in. She had sat Cordelia down in the back room, flipped over the sign, and poured the tea.

It would be hours before they parted ways again.

With Anita's help, Cordelia had gotten more answers than she was ever expecting; more than she could handle, she thought. She had learned of magic and what power it held if it was wielded by the right person. Of Demons and Vampires and how to steer clear of or destroy them, the latter as a last resort only.

What she _hadn't _learned, was what it had to do with her visions, who the ruggedly handsome black-clad stranger was, why she had become a Demon, apparently, what these painful visions her future self had was and, most importantly, how she could change her future when she didn't even know what it was?

Cordelia had informed Anita that she wasn't entirely happy with the answers, in the nicest way possible, and the shopkeeper had sent her new friend off to Los Angeles; the city of the magical.

They had more than a dozen magic shops, not to mention several stores that only held books on Demons and other otherworldly creatures, more than enough bars and clubs dedicated to those in the know, and, as Anita had explained to the brunette, more than one doorway to the Higher Beings.

It was just the place for a girl seeking answers.

Every weekend for the past three weeks, Cordelia had made up an excuse to her parents and driven the two hours away, using cash only to stay at one of the less-seedier motels, using the smarts no one knew she had to ride under the radar.

She had racked up quite a collection of books on the supernatural, though had yet to read through more than a few of them; because she knew they wouldn't hold the answer to her most important question. So, with Anita's help, they had finally managed to track down someone who could show Cordelia the way.

She was in this tiny little magic shop looking for the young woman who knew the way to the beings known only as the Oracles.

"Can I help you?" A voice spoke from her right, pulling her out of her inner musings.

Cordelia turned slightly to see a woman too blonde to be the one she was looking for. With a bright wattage smile she approached the shopkeeper and held out her hand. "Hi, my name is Cordelia and Anita Price told me that I could find someone called Heather Lucca here. Is that right?"

They shook hands and the older woman smiled. "Yes, that's correct. Do you live in Sunnydale, too?" She clasped her hands together and looked at Cordelia with a kindness that the teenager wasn't at all used to.

"Yes, I do, though I only met her recently."

The shopkeeper nodded. "Heather is in the back, I'll just go get her." She turned half-way, before twisting back with another smile. "Oh, and, I'm Kristen, by the way."

"It's nice to meet you, Kristen." She returned the smile with actual warmth, which almost hurt her cheeks, pondering the weirdness when she was alone.

A few minutes later a young woman with dark-brown skin, hazel eyes and curly, black hair stepped out from the backroom, a smile on her face and a piece of paper in her hand. Like Kristen before her, she had a kind smile on her face before she was even close enough to shake Cordelia's hand.

"Anita told me you'd come by this weekend, so I already have what you're looking for," she said, handing the teenager the small note in her hand.

Cordelia didn't unfold it just yet. "Oh, she didn't tell me she was gonna call you."

Kristen walked up with a box and, after setting it down on the front counter, she stepped up next to Heather and put her arm around her lovingly. Cordelia had never been a judgmental person, despite the barbs she spent her teen years throwing at the lesser kids, but being faced with a homosexual couple still caught her by surprise.

She tried not to show it, but the secret smirks on the women's faces told her she hadn't succeeded. "She didn't, because she thought I was in Italy visiting family. I'm the one that called her, since the trip was postponed for another few weeks." Heather said, choosing to ignore the brunette's reaction to her and her lover.

Cordelia shrugged, accepting that explanation, and unfolded the note. "The...post office?" She said, bewildered.

Heather laughed and nudged her girlfriend, who went back to work shelving books in the corner. "I know, it sounds odd, but that's where they are; the Oracles, I mean. Well, in the basement, really. The other words on the note are spoken while you sprinkle herbs into a Greek-looking fountain. If they deem you worthy of your request, they open the gateway and you can ask them anything."

She sighed at the realization that this was actually happening; despite spending a month researching these things, she'd never met them head on yet. No Demons, or Vampires, or even Witches, as both Anita and the two women before her were only amateur practitioners. She carefully re-folded the note and put it in her clutch. "Anything else I need to know before I go there?"

Heather frowned, obviously thinking. Cordelia recognized her light bulb moment the second it happened. "Shit, I almost forgot; you have to bring a gift. Something to honor them. If you don't bring one...well, I don't know what happens, because no one has ever forgotten it."

Shaking off her deer-in-the-headlights look, she clutched her purse tightly. "Gift? What kind of gift, exactly?" She thankfully managed to will her hands not to shake.

"That's up to you, Cordelia, just try to think about something for a Higher Being."

Now it was Cordelia's turn to have a light bulb moment. "I think I've got just the thing," she said, smiling as she said goodbye.

She had a quick trip home to make.

Five hours later Cordelia stood in front of the very normal and non-threatening post office, stalling before she went inside. At the thought of the gift she went home and got, her confidence had risen, but the closer she got back to Los Angeles, the more it fell again.

This was uncharted territory and that was frightening to her.

She placed her hand in her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the small pouch that lay inside, with the ingredients that Heather had mixed for her earlier. All there was left for her to do now was enter the building by the back, walk into the basement and say the incantation.

So why couldn't she get her feet to move?

This was what she'd been searching for, for over a month now. Every second of her day, every dream she had at night, every thought that passed through her head, was about this these days.

Where before it had been full of, well...air, wondering whether she would make the cheerleading team next year, how many dresses she could convince her parents to get her from the next designer collection, which boy would become worthy of her attention next...now, it had done a complete one-eighty.

Those things seemed childish and immature and utterly unimportant compared to the reality of life that had been slammed into her one month ago on that fateful night.

She was still Cordelia Chase; she still sneered at the sight of someone in last year's fashion, quietly pondered the pathetic lives of geeks, came up with quick quips just in case they were ever needed during the day. She was still her, she just had other priorities now.

Like moving her feet forward so she could get her answers.

With that silent reminder that she was still Queen C, she straightened her stance, squared her shoulders, and walked head-held-high into the back alley of the post office and quickly found the passage to the basement. Her heels clicked somewhat on the steel steps that lead downward, until they hit dirt and she could see what appeared to be a large bird bath in front of her.

Remembering the things she'd been told earlier, by Heather, about what to expect, she didn't allow herself to pause for long. Walking up to the stone chalice, she grabbed the pouch out of her pocket and shook the contents out into her right hand, staring down at the almost glittery mixed ingredients.

"I beseech access to the Knowing Ones," she practically whispered as she blew the blend into the 'bird bath'.

At first, nothing happened. She stared all around the room, even spinning in a perfect circle, and got ready to slam her heel into the ground as the spoiled child she had always been...but then she heard the buzzing coming from every corner of the small cave-like space.

She quietly chastised herself for her impatience; she was waiting for a door to another realm to open, it obviously wouldn't take a mere second.

As soon as that thought had been released into the ether of her mind, a bright light shone from a doorway to her left and she cautiously made her way towards it. She wanted to peer inside and get a lay of the land first, but that wasn't happening; it was far too bright to see through it.

Steeling herself for whatever was on the other side, she put the empty leather pouch back in her front pocket and stepped across the threshold; both literally and figuratively, she felt.

It took more time than she was prepared for, for the spots to disappear from her eyes, and almost two minutes after stepping inside could she finally take stock of where she was; it appeared to be a room right out of the ancient Greek tales of Gods and Goddesses...including the two beings that stood before her on a slightly raised platform.

Despite being different genders, it was surprisingly difficult to tell them apart at first. One was male, with light blond hair, the other female, with dark brown hair, and yet she felt deep down that they were cut from the same cloth; twins, though unlike the kinds found on what was her world, her earth, her reality.

They both had silver skin covered in golden symbols all over. They both wore toga-like cloth, the color of a purer white than she had ever seen before, to the point where it almost shimmered and glowed as they moved, if even only a fraction.

Their skin wasn't the only thing that set them apart from humans; their eyes were a color she didn't even know existed and had no name for, they didn't appear to have any fingernails, and their feet hovered a few inches off the ground, bare of shoes, sandals or any other form of coverings.

"Greetings, Sister of Prophet," the female twin spoke, after Cordelia had finished her assessment of them.

Almost as if she knew what she was thinking, the brunette girl thought to herself.

"Uh, huh?" was her eloquent reply.

The female smiled but it was her brother who spoke next. "We are known as the Oracles, for we see the truth of the past, the present, and the future. You have been blessed with this gift as well. This makes you a sister to our cause, lower being or not."

"I'm a...prophet?" She wondered aloud. "Are you talking about those strange visions I saw in the mirror last month?"

The female lightly shook her head, still staring at the visitor. "You have many questions, Seer. We will answer what we can and what we are allowed."

Before Cordelia could question her newest nickname, the male continued. "Have you brought us an offering, Sister?"

Wrinkling her nose at first, she managed to figure out what he was talking about before she asked a stupid question. Forcefully fighting down an embarrassed blush, she stuck a hand in the back pocket of her silver jeans and pulled out the object that she had gone back to Sunnydale to get.

Remembering what Heather had said about personal offerings, she stepped forward and held out the necklace that hung from her fingers. "My Grandmother gave this to me before she passed away; it has been passed down for generations and was an original piece of a royal treasure back in the early days of humanity. It has both sentimental, monetary, and cultural value."

Before she could even catch a second breath the necklace flew gently out of her hand and into those of the female Oracle. She help it up high so that the charm was dangling directly in front of her unique eyes; she gazed at it for what felt like forever, before turning to look at her brother. They appeared to be having some kind of silent conversation before they both nodded.

Cordelia was beginning to figure out some things about them, so it didn't surprise her when the female spoke; they took turns and now was hers.

"You may call me Astraea, Sister. This is Ouranos," she gestured to her dark haired twin. "We accept your generous gift and hope you will find what you search for, here with us."

With that, the girl figured it was time for the question portions of this fun little experience. She stepped forward a little, feeling off kilter being so far from those she was about to converse with; especially in this eerie room that almost seemed to give off echoes with each move made.

She breathed deeply and then looked at each Oracle, before speaking. "Last month I found myself facing strange visions whenever I looked in a mirror. It happened three times in the course of one night. What was it?"

Astraea glanced at her brother and together they stepped off to the side. Cordelia wondered what they were doing, until she saw a shimmering that slowly formed into an even larger and more white 'bird bath' than the one outside that she had used to get in.

This one also appeared to be full of water.

Astraea waved a hand over it a few times, but Cordelia was standing too far away to see if anything happened in the small pool. It only took seconds, or so it felt, before the Oracles stepped back in front of her.

Now it was Ouranos' turn. "The Auguries have spoken. Fate has intervened in the destinies of five Champions."

The brunette wanted to shake her head like a cartoon character until all of this made sense. "And I'm one of them...?"

No one had ever called her a Champion before; she liked it.

"You are destined to become one in the future, Sister of Prophet," Astraea spoke. "The Fates merely changed up the strings and put you on an early path."

Cordelia sighed, bowing her head slightly to give her a chance to think before she responded. Apparently, according to the Oracles, someone or some_thing_ had intervened in her life, showing her those visions or images, in order to...what; save the future?

That still didn't explain what she saw, though.

"But what was it? What was I shown?"

The twins glanced at each other and then Ouranos spoke. "The power of three lies within all of us. You were shown three instances in your future where a new path lay out before you."

Then Astraea took over again. "First was the moment you gave in to the power of good; when you chose to fight for the light and denounce the dark."

Cordelia remembered the hurt, pain, heartbreak and, somehow, utter conviction, in her mirror self's voice, when she had declared that they had to save everyone; she believed the Oracle.

"Then came the moment you accepted that no other life would make you as fulfilled; not normal, or anything else," Ouranos continued, speaking of the image of Cordelia asking to become a Demon.

The girl swallowed thickly, waiting for Astraea to finish explaining the final one before letting herself think about exactly what it all means.

"Finally there was the moment you said goodbye to your old life, fully accepting that your path no longer lay where it once had, no longer followed that of your old friends and allies. You parted with your old life, secure in the knowledge that your farewell had given the other Champion the last bit of hope in a dark life."

She wanted to give up on her body, let it crash to the ground and beg them to explain, in detail, why she had been given this so-called 'gift'. She hadn't asked for this, hadn't asked for them to mess with her life, her future, for whatever personal gain they got out of in.

And then Astraea was right there, standing in front of her, touching a silver and gold hand to her arm and pulling her over to the white and wet 'bird bath'.

"The Auguries never lie, Sister of Prophet. Look deep inside for your answers."

Afraid of what she would see, Cordelia wanted to push away the Oracle, tell the twins to expel her from this plane of existence and send her back home. She would go to bed and deny anything that had happened in the last month, coming awake the next morning with no memories of anything even remotely supernatural.

But her curiosity brought her that last inch forward and she peered into the clear pool.

Both a second and an eternity passed in the same span of time as Cordelia was shown just exactly WHY the Fates had intervened. It wasn't done to destroy her life, her future, or to guide her on the path they wanted her on. It was to save her life and future.

Because in the pool the Auguries showed her what her fate would be, had no one intervened on her behalf.

She saw herself be completely taken over by a Demonic being, who used her body to slash and bash and kill and destroy...everything in its path. Then, when the images became almost too much for her to witness, the creature somehow gave birth to itself and left the young woman in a mystical coma.

One that she saw she would never wake up from.

She felt as if someone had taken a hunter's knife and gutted her out completely; her insides were on the outside and covered in salt and vinegar.

How could someone's life become so completely twisted?

How does one go from ruling the halls of a small town high school, shopping in designer stores and dancing at the Bronze, to fighting the forces of darkness, befriending a Vampire and giving your life for the cause?

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Unfortunately, as the girl would soon learn, she had no choice.

But whether she could tame the beast within her or if it would swallow her whole...only time would tell.

* * *

**Authors Note; **I'm aware that the Oracles I described aren't the same as the ones depicted, but I wanted to make my own. After all, the ones in Angel died at one point, so who's to say the ones in 1996 are the same as the ones in 2000? Anyway, just go with it.

Any other questions you have, hand them over and I'll answer to the best of my ability :)

Hope you enjoyed it and don't forget to review.

Puppet.


	3. Distractions

**Authors Note; **Here we are with the next chapter. There are no particular warnings here, beside the previous spoilers for the show, in case any readers haven't watched the entire seven seasons of Buffy or five seasons of Angel.

It's time for the next person in the bond to share his piece, hope you guys enjoy it.

Puppet.

**Celgress; **Yes, this is a story that will pretty much make the show AU from the very first season. Sorta like a time travel story, only without the time travel :)

I didn't even remember that the monk's name was Brother Lucca, so no, there is no connection there; nice thinking, though.

* * *

_Fifteen year old Alexander Lavelle Harris was in his room, perched on the carpeted floor, as he tried to block out the sounds coming from one floor down. His Uncle Rory was in town for a visit and he knew that it meant bad news; his father was always more volatile when his brother was around._

_And his mother drank double her usual to avoid a painful collision._

_The young boy flinched when the words became both harsher and louder, and wished he could be at the Bronze with his friends; he was supposed to be but knew better than to leave when his folks were in this kind of mood. And he would have to pass the living room to get to the front door._

_He would come up with an excuse for Willow and Jesse in the morning, but for now he kept himself busy._

_Distracted._

_He sat surrounded by piles of his beloved comic books, trying to lose himself in the familiar stories; of heroes and villains and a better world than the one he lived in._

_So caught up in his own maudlin thoughts, it took him a while to realize that the pictures on the pages were shifting, changing right before his eyes._

_And then an animated vision of himself formed in the white blocks below._

_He read the scene unfolding, so unfamiliar, yet so frightening at the same time._

_"Jesse! I know there's still a part of you in there." He reads himself pleading with his best friend and the boy stands before him, a strange, twisted feature covering his normal face._

_And were those fangs?_

_Jesse jumps closer to the other boy and the Xander reading the comic finally notices the familiar brunette that is held in his friend's arms. "Okay... let's deal with this. Jesse was an excruciating loser who couldn't get a date with anyone in the sighted community! Look at me. I'm a new man!"_

_Cordelia is dropped to the ground and Xander ignored the comic sounds written out when she hits the floor, of what he now recognizes as the Bronze. He reads on as Jesse grabs him by the jacket and lifts him up against a wall._

_When did his best friend get so strong?_

_Looking closer, squinting his eyes, Xander sees his animated double holding what appears to be a wooden stake in his hand, pressed up against Jesse's chest._

_A chill runs down his spine at the sudden realization; Vampire._

_"Ooh! Alright. Put me out of my misery." Jesse sneers into his face, no fear evident of what his friend will do next. "You don't have the guts."_

_And then a frightened boy runs past the two, hiding as they are in a dark corner, pressing Jesse up against Xander. And the stake he is holding up against his heart._

_Xander on the floor, in his room, can only watch, horrified, as the comic shows his best and oldest friend turning into dust motes right in front of both versions of him._

_Holy moley, what was happening here?_

_Despite atrocious grades, a life he had never tried to escape from and his complete lack of ability to see that his other best friend was helplessly in love with him, Xander Harris was by no means a stupid boy._

_He threw the comic away in disgust, but his curiosity led him on a dangerous path, as he picked up yet another issue, this time a Marvel; but the title no longer held anything familiar and it wasn't Wolverine on the cover anymore._

_Instead, there was an animated picture of him, his Uncle Rory's car and a terrifying title; The Zeppo._

_He cautiously opened the comic and spent the next twenty minutes in varying degrees of horror as he read through the entire issue._

_He watched himself be ignored by his friends, delegated to no more than a speck on their radar. As they fought impossible creatures, they kept him safe and sheltered like a frightened puppy dog._

_And then he saw Jack O'Toole approaching him, Katie in hand._

_But it would be later events that would truly blow his mind._

_Losing his virginity to a sultry and gorgeous brunette._

_Standing up to a zombie who wanted to blow up the high school._

_Willing to lay down his life to save his so-called friends; where he didn't even know any of them but Willow._

_Was it possible?_

_Did he have it in him to be that brave?_

_The shadow of a smile touched his lips, even as he had the distinct ringing in his ears from the continued yelling downstairs. The belief in himself was starting to build and he wanted it to keep going, so he rooted through his comics until he found the next, unfamiliar, one._

_He shouldn't have been so eager._

_Especially with a title like Hells Bells staring out at him._

_The first page was one, large picture; he was in a rumpled tuxedo and holding the hand of a beautiful blonde in a flowing wedding gown, while the rain poured down behind them. But there was a look on his double's face that terrified him._

_He felt it... he was about to something bad._

_The good came with the bad._

_"You know, it's bad luck to see me in my dress," the pretty woman said, smiling lovingly up at his animated counterpart._

_Xander, the other Xander, just looks at her, not speaking a word._

_"Hey. It's okay. It's all over now, he's dead, and it was just smoke and mirrors."_

_"I know," he finally says, but his face doesn't change._

_Xander feels the foreboding._

_"So... we're ready now. Let's get married," she replies, a smile that shows him that she has no idea what's coming._

_He flips the page and sees the woman turning away, but is pulled to a stop by the hand still attached to his other self. "I...", he tries to get out as she turns back to look at him. "I'm not." Now she looks utterly confused. "I'm not ready. I can't, Ahn, I'm sorry."_

_While fuming over his other self, he wonders what Ahn is short for._

_"But it wa- it wasn't real. What he showed you, it wasn't real."_

_"I know it wasn't real. But it could be."_

_Xander couldn't read anymore; he flipped through the pages and saw the images of his own animated parents, fighting, his father about to strike his mother. And then he flipped to the end._

_And saw his own back as he walked away from the broken hearted beauty._

_He threw the comic down in disgust._

_How was it possible? How could his life twist and turn like that? Bravery and cowardice within what appeared to be just a few short years of each other._

_He snorted into the silence of the room and rolled his eyes; pissed at himself for what he had done. Oh, no, Xander Harris was by no means a stupid man; he knew what this meant._

_This was his future._

One month later...

He sat on the curb, his knees almost poking him in the eyes, as he watched the empty road stretching out before him.

It hadn't been easy, but he had done it.

Without any way to find out just what events had led to the death and subsequent turning of his best friend, or even exactly _when _it would happen, Xander hadn't wanted to take any chances; he had to make sure Jesse stayed safe and alive.

Even if it meant never seeing him again.

He sighed as he stared down the long stretch of road, sitting, as he was, in front of the empty house behind him. A house that had once held furniture, loving parents and a boy he had known since kindergarten.

After three weeks, Xander had finally managed to convince the McNally family to move to another town.

Far, far away from here.

Though it soothed part of him, he was still gonna miss his best friend; especially since he didn't know if he still had another one left.

The comics may have shown him only the demise of Jesse, but did that mean that Willow would automatically be safe? Was he responsible and she would be safer away from him, or did the fact that the comics hadn't shown her death mean that he needed to keep her close?

He wished he had the answer to that and so many more questions.

He glared up at the sun above that shone down brightly on the small town; as if his life wasn't falling apart, right in front of his eyes.

So much had changed in the month it had been since he'd found the images of his comics changing right before his eyes. So much he'd been forced to change. Jesse and his family moving away was just one step on a tall ladder leading to what he hoped was a brighter future for all involved.

The second step had been his own home situation.

If the final comic he read was any indication, Xander's fears of turning into his father would one day destroy him, and any woman he dare love. He couldn't let that happen; he _wouldn't _let that happen. So he had taken things into his own hands.

With determination and set shoulders, he had waltzed right into the offices of Social Services and taken a meeting with one of the employees. Without actually admitting to neglect and abuse in his home, he had gotten her to admit that they would try their best not to remove him from his hometown.

He wasn't leaving Sunnydale, end of story.

Once he finally had her absolute promise that he could stay in town, he told her exactly what went on in his house, how long it had been happening, and his own ideas on why it had started in the first place.

Now, one month later, he was several steps closer to a healthy mind and a happy future. His father was in prison, serving almost twenty years for child and spousal abuse. His mother was in rehab for the foreseeable future and, when released, would be allowed small visitation with her only son...if she so wished. And Xander had, on his own request, been signed up for intense therapy sessions with a doctor in Los Angeles.

He took the two hour trip three times a week and they had already made a lot of progress.

Finally, there was the last, but by no means least, thing to come out of this, the one he was aiming for when he began the planning; his home situation. He was still Alexander Lavelle _Harris_, nothing would ever change that, even if he wasn't too old to be legally adopted by anyone, but now he lived in a place that, while not particularly loving, wasn't hateful either.

He had been taken in by Ira and Sheila Rosenberg.

With the knowledge in mind that he had to push Jesse out of his life and future, in order to save him, it had been a balm to his hurt to be so close to his last remaining friend; to have her just down the hall if he needed her.

While her parents had made it clear that they expected the kids to stay out of each others bedrooms, they were hardly around enough to enforce it, so the best friends spent almost every night in Willow's room.

Hers had a private patio, after all, and there was still some summer left.

Xander had been so busy with his own plans, his own future, that he had yet to notice the changes that his redheaded friend was going through...or the way she jumped every time they walked past a parked car.

He had made it a habit to look over his large collection of comics at least once a day, and he tried to buy as many new ones as he could afford, here and there, but still nothing had happened since that first night.

Then again, he wasn't sure what to hope for; that the comics changed or that they stayed the same.

The rollercoaster of emotions that came with knowledge of the future was something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, which in this case was Cordelia Chase. Even she and her pathetic sheep didn't deserve the utter stress and almost complete heartbreak that came with knowing just what you could become and be capable of as you grew up.

Though he was sure it could've been worse than leaving a woman at the altar, he was equally sure that said woman would most likely disagree and call it the worst pain; especially if the look on her drawn face was any indication.

Deep in his heart he felt a need to seek her out and apologize, even knowing that she wouldn't know him or what he was saying sorry for. He didn't want to do it out of some lame attempt to make himself feel better, but because he knew there was a chance he'd never get to do it in the future, now that he would make sure it never happened.

And she deserved an apology.

Unfortunately, despite a comic dedicated to their wedding day, the only thing he knew about her was her name; Anya. Anything else had been left out, including surname, the year the wedding didn't happen and how the two had met.

In fact, the only recognizable people drawn in the comic, besides his arguing parents, had been a very adult version of his redheaded best friend, who appeared to definitely have grown past the shy and blushing exterior she had nowadays.

He couldn't wait to see her come out of her shell, little by little, until the day she became the woman from the printed pages.

Sighing to himself, he finally admitted that he was stalling. He didn't want to leave right now, a small part of him hoping to see the car return and Jesse say that they had decided to stick around after all.

He didn't really want that, but...

Xander rose from the ground and ran his hands over his pants to get the dirt and dust off the fabric, turning to look one last time at the house behind him, before beginning the trek back to his new home.

So much had changed, but so much still stayed the same. He just hoped he could change enough things that the future would look brighter than it had one month ago.

With each step he took, he pressed his crossed fingers tighter together.

Praying to anyone who would listen.

He threw his coat on the rack and stepped further into the house, checking to see if anyone other than him were home. Quick looks in the kitchen, the living room, and the offices at the back of the building, showed him that at the very least Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg were out.

The fact that it was a Saturday made him wonder where they'd gone; they weren't exactly the romantic go-on-a-date types.

Shrugging his shoulders, knowing it really wasn't any of his business anyway, he walked down the hall that held the three bedrooms and two baths. He could hear Willow in her room, but it was the tapping of a keyboard and that told him all he needed to know.

He wasn't going to face the wrath that was his friend when she was interrupted in doing her homework.

He quickly stepped away from the door, trying to stay quiet as a mouse, as he made his way down to his own room. It still felt strange, walking into this space; it didn't look anything like him.

It had only been a little over a week that he'd been here and he'd been so busy trying to get the McNally's to leave town that he hadn't had any time to personalize it. There were no posters on the walls, he hadn't unpacked his unique alarm clock yet and his comics were still in boxes out in the foyer.

Scandalous, is what that was.

He sighed and sat down on the bed, head in his hands. He had been getting so tired lately. Not one to admit that he rarely used his brain for much, it was hard to miss now that it was being put to overwork; thoughts constantly swirling around in his head until he felt like vomiting.

He wondered what would happen if he put some of that work to his school hours; maybe he could actually get his grades up. He'd never be as smart as Wills, but he didn't need to be.

He just wanted to graduate in three years.

Leaning back slowly, he soon lay down on the small twin bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling overhead. His thoughts couldn't seem to find a place to stop on, touching briefly on things here and there, before moving on to the next thing.

He wondered if the medicine cabinet held any pain killers.

His hand reached up to rub his forehead as his eyes clenched tightly shut and he tried to distract himself with thoughts that weren't as heavy; it wasn't working.

He thought of the comics still boxed up in the hallway and decided that, as far as distractions go, that may be the best way to go about it.

Sighing softly, he rose from his place on the bed and walked back out into the hall of bedrooms.

Only to be met with his best friend.

Willow's eyes widened and she stammered. "Oh, hi, I didn't know you were home. What are you up to?"

If Xander heard the squeak in her voice, he didn't comment on it. "Not much, was just gonna go get my boxes; they've been sitting in the hall ever since I came here." He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

The redhead's eyes narrowed and she huffed. "No comics, Xander, not until you get your homework done. C'mon, let's go sit in the living room, we can put the radio on. Go get your school stuff and I'll get mine."

Xander knew better than to argue with her, especially when she was wearing her resolve face, so he did as she said and met her in the main room a few minutes later.

At least this would be as good of a distraction as the comics.

That was always something.

* * *

Xander wandered through the house, a little put off by how silent it was. Sure, he was the only one home, but he wasn't used to the quiet; his own parents had been on welfare, which meant they never left the house, except to get more alcohol and cigarettes.

He tried not to think about it, though.

Now, on a Sunday afternoon, the boy had the home all to himself. Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg had taken Willow to some museum in Los Angeles for the day and he was left to his own devices.

Yesterday's homework session had gotten the job done and he hadn't really thought any truly heavy thoughts until he lay in bed later that night. And even then, he had been so tired that he had quickly fallen asleep.

Now he was in desperate need of another distraction.

And he knew just what to use.

He walked to the foyer, grabbed his coat and keys, and locked the door behind him as he left. He had been doing some research lately, on the small town he lived in, and had some things he had to take care of that involved several different establishments in Sunnydale.

He'd use today to visit at least one of them.

The three comics that had so effectively changed his life and how he thought of himself and his future, had each one held questions...but also a few answers.

The one from his senior year of Sunnydale High was his priority right now.

A fifteen minute walk later brought him to a building on the outskirts of the main street that held most of the stores. A big sign hung above the double doors read _Big Mike's_, with a smaller sign below that said _Weights _– _Treadmill _– _Tennis_.

The gym was the only one in the small town and had only been here for less than six months. The owner, Michael 'Mike' Kosawski, had moved to Sunnydale when he and his wife started a family and the man had quickly realized the money he could make by being the only establishment for miles that offered these services.

You could train like a body builder on the second floor, with every weight and pulley you could think of, and the first floor held several treadmills, stationary bikes and even rowing machines. The back rooms, old warehouses converted when Mike bought the building, were smaller individual gyms where you could play tennis, badminton and even squash.

If Xander wanted to be able to truly stand up to people or creatures like Jack O'Toole, and not just out of bravery, he needed to be, and _feel_, strong enough to do so. And this was the way to go.

The young boy pushed through the double doors and stood just inside, wide eyes looking all around.

He'd never been here before, having only passed with Jesse a few times when they got distracted and suddenly found themselves almost on the bad part of town; this gym lay directly on the invisible line between upstanding and dangerous.

It was a precarious line, no doubt.

Especially now that Xander knew exactly WHY Sunnydale had such a high death rate.

_What the hell is a Hellmouth, anyway?_

He'd only been standing in the front hall for less than a minute when a man stepped up to greet him. Xander swallowed thickly, trying not to seem afraid...but the man was huge!

"Hi there, you here to sign up?" The man lifted a brow and crossed his arms over his massive chest. "You seem a bit young."

Swallowing back a nervous stammer, Xander replied. "I'm fifteen and, yes, I wanna sign up. But I need to hear about prices first."

The man stared at him for a good long while, before a smile spread on his face and he reached out a hand for Xander to shake. "Alright then, I think we can talk about that. I'm Mike, by the way."

The boy sighed and smiled back, grabbing the larger hand in his. "Xander Harris, hi."

Mike invited Xander back to his office, where they each took a seat on one side of a wooden table. There was a picture of a very familiar woman on the man's desk, looking very pregnant; the woman was Xander's Geometry teacher.

Now that he thought about it, her name _was _Mrs. Kosawski.

_Huh._

Mike folded his hands on top of the desk and looked at Xander with kind eyes. "Now, you said something about prices? I have to ask you, though, because of how young you are, what your reasons are for wanting a membership. I don't want to get in trouble because you use your new strengths to beat someone up." His eyes were now fierce, but still gentle at the same time.

Xander understood where he was coming from. "Mostly I just wanna be able to protect myself from bullies...but, there's some other stuff, too." His eyes lowered and his hands began to fidget in his lap.

Mike nodded to himself as he thought; he may not have lived here long, but, since he and his friends/co-workers often went to the pub after work, he had had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting a man called Tony Harris.

Something told him that the last names the boy and the violent drunk shared was no coincidence.

He knew better than to bring that up in front of Xander, it was obviously a sore subject, so instead he decided to mow ahead. "Well, I guess I can accept that." He waited until the boy was looking at him again before continuing. "I've got a list of prices here, but I'm sure we can figure something out if they are too high for your budget. Being on an allowance can be a...hassle." He said with a laugh, swallowing his curse at the last second.

It wouldn't do for his wife to learn how he had spoken with one of her students.

Xander copied Mike's smile and grabbed the brochure he held out for him. It seemed fairly reasonable, even affordable, but with a discount it also meant that he wouldn't have to economize too much.

He left the gym an hour later with a full membership and the perks of bringing a friend with him for free.

Not bad.

Afternoon was slowly turning into night, though here in California the sun was still relatively high in the sky, considering the late hour. Xander sat at the round table inside the shop, more than a dozen books laid out before him, half of them open to a certain page.

After his hour in_ Big Mike's_, the young boy had walked the twenty minutes to main street and entered the small magic shop on the corner by the coffee shop. A young woman had welcomed him and been very helpful.

He had no idea that they had someone in common.

Anita Price worked the register in the front, coming back every now and then to check and see how Xander was doing and if there were any more books he needed for reference.

She didn't know exactly what he was looking for, as he was being very secretive, but then, Xander himself wasn't sure either. All he knew was that he wanted answers.

He knew that Vampires existed only because he knew that what the comics had shown him was the actual future; but that was the only evidence he had and it wasn't enough to inform him about what he was going to be dealing with in the weeks, months and years to come.

He only knew that he couldn't just sit by and let the Demons of the world prey on the weak and innocent.

_No freaking way._

More than once in the last month had he considered talking to Willow about it, but he was afraid of doing to her what his comic self had done to Jesse; put her in danger.

He couldn't lose her, too.

So instead he sat in the darkening shop, pouring over volume after volume of Demonic lore and information about something mysterious called the Slayer; he had yet to figure out what that last part meant, but now knew to carry certain items around, especially after the sun set.

He was playing with the thought of getting a wooden cross and sharpening one end, leaving him with less to carry everywhere.

Unfortunately, those things, crosses, stakes, holy water, only worked with one type of Demon. Now, while it could be argued, at least according to what he'd read, there were more Vampires in the world than there were other Demons, combined, but still...

This _was _a Hellmouth, after all, and now that he knew what that meant...

He had work to do.

The months coming would be tough, but he was sure he could handle it. He had the frame of mind to get anything done, he felt, now that he had cleaned up his life. And when you count the hours spent in therapy each week, it would only be a matter of time before any remaining issues had been dealt with, as well.

He didn't even hear it when the bell above the front door of the shop rang out, nor did he hear the familiar voice speaking to the shopkeeper, so immersed he was in his research.

He didn't see who else was in the small shop...but she saw him.

And now things could really change.

* * *

**Authors Note; **And there you have it, different from Cordelia's piece, because Xander is a different person. Still, I'm pleased with the outcome, even if this feels more like filler than the previous one did. Hope no one else thought that :)

Hope you guys enjoyed it and don't forget to review xD

Puppet.


	4. Confronting the Inevitable

**Authors Note; **And here we have the next chapter. I've almost finished writing the final chapter in this, so it should be completed fairly soon. I can't wait to start the next one in the series :)

Puppet.

* * *

_Fifteen year old Willow Marie Rosenberg was walking home from a boring night at the Bronze; neither of her boys had bothered to show up and she sullenly wondered what their excuses would be, come morning out in front of the high school._

_Lame, no doubt, and yet she knew she'd forgive them before they even opened their mouths._

_She sighed._

_She was such a pushover._

_The redhead frowned when she came to another puddle; it had rained more in the last few days than is usual in California. Doing her best to step around it, so she wouldn't ruin her good shoes, she continued down the dark path of the alleyway shortcut._

_When she finally stepped back out onto the sidewalk, she was only three minutes from her house, but it would take her longer than that to get there; she just didn't know it yet._

_Having only made it past a few houses, something suddenly caught her eye in the reflected window of one of the dark cars parked against the curb. She stopped, curious, and was quickly shocked by the sight._

_Shimmering change right before her eyes._

_An image formed in the window, one she didn't recognize... except for herself._

_She was standing in an unfamiliar room, bright with the light of a Sunnydale morning. Wearing clothing she was too shy and insecure to dress in now, it was obvious to her that this Willow was a great deal older than her fifteen year old self._

_There was another woman in the room; a voluptuous female with dark brown hair. Before she even had time to ponder what she was seeing, her older self pulled the other woman in for a kiss..._

_A kiss!_

_Now she was sure this wasn't real; it couldn't be._

_But the image wouldn't let her stew in her shock for long, because suddenly something happened. She saw red dots on her white shirt and then the woman fell to the ground._

_Dead._

_With tears stinging her eyes, she watched as her counterpart fell to the carpet in a fit of sorrow and grabbed the body into her lap. Just when she thought nothing could surprise her more, her heart beating like a drum in her chest, the redheaded older twin raised her head and stared back at her younger self._

_Eyes red as fire._

_Willow took two steps back in fear and removed her eyes from the sight. When she turned back the image was gone and she was finally looking at her own reflection._

_What was that?_

_Hands shaking, breast heaving, stomach whirling, she walked in a daze further down the sidewalk toward her home. Praying she could get there before anything else happened that she couldn't explain._

_If that was what she wanted, she shouldn't have peeked into yet another car window, before making it to her destination._

_The next scene that played out before her started where the last one had ended._

_A bedroom, a body on the floor, and a counterpart with black eyes._

_But then it kept going._

_She saw flashes of events covering more than twenty-four hours; frightening, horrifying glimpses into what she hoped wasn't prophetic._

_Because she just couldn't picture herself capable of something like this._

_She saw herself stick hands into books and gain instant black hair from it. Witnessed as she tortured a screaming man before she ripped off his skin._

_Without even touching him._

_Saw as her twin laid destruction to a store in town. As she fought against those that would try to stop her. Saw herself on the bluffs, raising what appeared to be a satanic temple._

_Saw a much older Xander bleed trying to help her._

_Because of her._

_And then she saw herself crash to the ground in her best friend's arms, as her hair slowly turned back to its original color._

_And the image was gone._

_If she thought seeing herself kissing a woman was shocking..._

_She wasn't capable of this, she refused to believe that. But how could she deny it? What else could it be, if not prophetic?_

_She could only hope that they were warnings... which meant she could change it._

_It wasn't just her hands that were shaking now... it was her whole body._

_Her whole being._

_She began to walk again, once more heading for her home, only this time keeping her eyes open for the next parked car she would pass by._

_And, just as she saw her house in the distance, her neighbors Volvo came into sight._

_She slowed down as she reached it._

_And was rewarded with another vision._

_Another unfamiliar room, another unfamiliar woman, another unfamiliar situation._

_It appeared to be an office of some kind, with a desk pushed away to make room for something in the middle. Something mystical, Willow was sure._

_The brunette woman sat before her, though not the same one that had died, watching her intensely, a knife in her lap._

_But she didn't look at her long._

_Willow herself had a much scarier weapon in her lap; it looked like an ax and a sword had mated and this was their love child._

_There was even a sharp, wooden stake in the handle._

_There were candles all around and the room lit up in a bright light. Willow couldn't look away, even if she wanted to._

_Which she didn't._

_When the light only became more bright, with each passing moment, she realized it wasn't emanating from the candles; it was coming from the red weapon._

_And from the heart of her counterpart._

_It grew and grew until it seemed to explode; so violently that Willow almost stepped back and covered her eyes. Then, suddenly, it wasn't just the room that was lit up._

_"Oh, god," Willow whispered, staring at the vision that was her._

_Hair as white as snow and a look of pure ecstasy on her face._

_"You're a Goddess," the other woman breathed out and the moment was broken._

_The last thing Willow saw, before the vision ended and the view became a simple car window again, was the pure and peaceful smile on her own, older, wiser face._

_And suddenly the last two visions didn't matter._

_She wanted this to be her future._

One month later...

She bit her bottom lip as she stared intensely at the bright screen of the computer, trying to figure out what the next step was. The words glared back at her, the cursor blinking every other second.

It had been a long thirty days.

Not once had Willow tried to deny that this was her future; not just because she wanted it to be true, well, some of it, but also because she was too smart to think it could be anything else.

It definitely wasn't something she ate.

She had locked herself in her room the next day after school and tried to go over everything in her head, attempting to figure out where to go from there.

The answer was fairly obvious to her, so she got on the web and went in search for anything she could find on magic and those that used it.

It was time for her to start training.

But when the first spell book arrived by mail, after ordering it online, she suddenly lost all that bravery she had previously felt. All she kept seeing in her mind's eye was that image of her using the power to rip the skin off someone's bones, of hurting those she was supposed to care about...of trying to end the world.

She didn't want to become the person that was capable of that.

But how was she supposed to prevent it?

She had gone over it, again and again, for days, staring at the book that lay ever still on her desk in her room, never gathering the courage to do what needed to be done.

Instead, she had kept up with the research.

She now had an entire pile of books, on spells, on the history of magic, and even what she hoped was some helpful tips on how to control the power and not let it control you.

She had yet to crack a single one of them open.

Willow had spent the first few weeks coming to terms with the things she had learned in the vision windows. After all, it wasn't just the thought that she may become a powerful, and dark, Witch one day that she saw; she was also forced to come to terms with something she had, deep down, always known, if not admitted.

She was gay.

It had started when she was seven, but thanks to her parents she had known better than to go with it. So, she had made up a crush on her best friend, knowing in her heart that he would never return it, leaving her safe from her secret and from having to pretend with a boy.

Of course, this Willow didn't know, and would never know, of her future with a boy from a band, so couldn't answer why she would be with Oz for two years, and even fight for the relationship to last.

For the moment, all the redhead saw was that beautiful brunette from the first vision; Tara.

Even her name was lovely, Willow couldn't help but think.

She didn't know how they would meet, when they would meet, or how their relationship would begin, but one thing she _did _know; she wasn't going to let anything get in the way of the future happiness of both of them.

Which was why she was gathering up the courage to come out to her parents.

Though she had decided to do a practice run with Xander, any day now.

There had been plenty for the girl to come to terms with and she still had a long way to go. For now, she was sitting on her computer, researching any nearby covens that might be able to help her with her control issues.

Willow was more than aware of her problems; she'd always been the type of person who had to control any situation, either because she thought she knew better, thanks to her high intelligence, or because she wanted to be able to predict the outcome.

These were serious issues and, though she'd considered therapy like Xander was doing, she felt that there was other things needed in her case. Whether that was because of the supernatural element, she couldn't say, but therapy didn't feel right.

Which may be because of what her parents did for a living; she had grown up around people who were constantly analyzing her every move...she didn't need a stranger doing the same thing.

Finally, after what felt like, and probably was, hours of searching, Willow found a link to a web-page that may hold the answers. There was a message box on the site and several people were online and writing.

She leaned back in her chair and waited, watching the conversation on the screen. She wanted to see if anyone on it actually believed and knew of the truth; she didn't want to come off as a lunatic who belonged in an asylum.

Finally, after almost thirty minutes of watching, something jumped out at her. She pressed on the name and pulled up a private conversation box, typing frantically and not even bothering to correct her spelling mistakes.

The other person called themselves _JK1965_ and seemed to understand more about the real world than Willow had expected to find. They were very helpful, accepting that the redhead was still new and wouldn't be able to handle too much at once.

_JK1965_, who soon turned out to be a woman, offered to help Willow find what she was looking for; a tutor. When she learned that the teenage girl lived in California, the conversation really took off; apparently this woman was living in the City of Angels.

The two women agreed to meet up the next day in the city, since Willow was going with her parents anyway, and said their goodbyes. She hoped that the older woman would be able to point her in the right direction; she wanted to get started on the magic soon, there was no telling when she might need it.

With as many answers as she was gonna get right now, she turned off the screen, sighed and stood, deciding that it was time for dinner. She rose from her chair and stepped out of the room, almost bumping into her new roommate and best friend in the hallway.

Her eyes widened and she stammered. "Oh, hi, I didn't know you were home. What are you up to?" She had been caught off guard and didn't get a chance to hide her heightened emotions.

If Xander heard the squeak in her voice, he didn't comment on it. "Not much, was just gonna go get my boxes; they've been sitting in the hall ever since I came here." He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

The redhead's eyes narrowed and she huffed. "No comics, Xander, not until you get your homework done. C'mon, let's go sit in the living room, we can put the radio on. Go get your school stuff and I'll get mine." It would serve as a fine distraction until the next morning arrived.

Xander knew better than to argue with her, especially when she was wearing her resolve face, so he did as she said and met her in the main room a few minutes later.

She really needed to have a sit-down with her friend, and soon. This keeping secrets thing was beginning to get on her nerves.

She had changes to implement.

* * *

Willow and her parents left early the next morning; while Xander was still sleeping. She left a note for him on the kitchen table and then got in the car, mentally preparing herself for a very long two-hour drive.

She kept quiet in the backseat and, as she correctly guessed, this kept them from remembering that she was in the car; they didn't speak a word to her on the drive over.

There was a note in her pocket with the name of the cafe where she was meeting _JK1965_. She had already worked out a plan on how to get away from her folks, though she couldn't put that into effect until they arrived at the museum. The small family had been there before and it was the perfect place to lose them.

She knew her parents; they wouldn't panic or contact the cops. They'd simply assume she was acting out and wait for her by the car, at the appointed time for them to leave to return to Sunnydale.

Which was exactly what she was planning on doing.

At two minutes to ten, she arrived outside of the cafe and took a seat at an outside table. She had already told the woman she was meeting that she was a young redhead and that seemed to be enough to recognize her, as four minutes later, a young woman sat down across from her.

"You must be Willow," she said, a kind smile on her face.

Now that she had internally admitted to her true sexuality, she was able to see how pretty this woman was and, only her slight crush on the girl called Tara from her vision kept her from obviously showing her opinion. The woman was a dark-haired beauty with slightly darker skin than usual, even in California, deep brown eyes and a kind face.

Willow already felt better about her decision to trust her.

"Yes, I am," she replied, returning the smile.

The waiter chose that moment to come over and ask for their orders. Only when he left, after writing down a black coffee and iced tea, did the redhead learn the name of the one she was talking with.

"My name is Janna and I'd like to tell you why I think I could help you."

She went on to explain her past; how she was a descendant of a powerful clan of Romany Gypsies, who had emigrated to the States after a terrible tragedy struck them in 1898. She didn't mention what it was, but from the darkening of her eyes, Willow knew better than to ask.

Janna explained that she had been one of the only members of her clan to show actual interest in the old ways of her people; the magic. She had trained from a young age and, now that she had permanently relocated to California, she would be more than happy to be the one to teach Willow everything she needed to know.

"Wow, that would be great, thank you," she gushed, almost jumping up and down in her seat from excitement.

"It's no problem at all, Willow. You seem like a sensible girl and you're certainly approaching this in the smartest possible way." She smiled at her as she sipped on her coffee. "I want to start off right, so why don't you tell me how available you'll be, in terms of coming to LA."

Willow shrugged. "I should be able to get here every weekend, and on week days if we plan ahead; I won't get a license for another year, but there are buses going back and forth all the time."

"That sounds good. There's a relatively small, but powerful, coven right here in the city. I doubt they'd appreciate being called a coven, though," she laughed, shaking her head.

"Why's that?" The girl asked, curiously tilting her head.

Janna set down her cup and looked at the bright, young girl. "They are actually called Furies and are...less than humans. Sort of a mix between Muses and Oracles, I guess you could say. They create powerful spells, though, from protection to long-lasting curses."

Willow frowned; they sounded scary, in an intimidating way, not a dangerous one. "And you think they'd help me?" Her voice dropped as her insecurities showed themselves.

Janna smiled gently and reached over to pat her hand on the redhead's. "I'm positive. They can be a bit...emotionless, but they are good people. But I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, so we won't go if you don't want to, or unless you feel prepared and ready for a visit."

She nodded, promising to think about it until their next meeting.

The rest of the lunch was spent discussing spells and where Janna wanted Willow to start. She handed the girl a book to take home with her and made her promise not to attempt a single spell until given permission, regardless of how curious she was or how much she would feel it necessary in the near future.

But Janna had nothing to worry about; the visions Willow had been shown had seen to that.

The sun was still high in the sky when they said their goodbyes, after exchanging phone numbers, and the redhead made her way to the restaurant where she knew her parents had reservations in a few hours. She knew there was several stores nearby where she could pass the time.

She never noticed the blonde girl she passed or the resemblance she had to the Slayer from her visions.

And in turn, Buffy saw right through her.

They passed each other by and went on with their individual lives.

For now.

* * *

As soon as they stepped back into the house later that night, her parents sent her straight to her room and then went into the living room to spend a few hours together in front of the idiot box.

Willow rolled her eyes and proceeded to do as they had asked, but only because that's what she planned to do anyway.

She wasn't the least bit surprised to find Xander waiting for her on her bed.

"Did you have a nice trip?" He asked, but there was something..._off _about his voice.

"Yeah, it was fine," she cautiously replied, putting down her bag and fidgeting on her feet.

"Good, that's...good," his eyes didn't seem to be able to land on her and her brows furrowed.

And then she saw the spot he kept looking back at; her desk that held the numerous books on magic, spells and the supernatural.

"I, uh, I can explain that," she stammered, not hearing the sound of her patio door opening or the breeze that was suddenly in the room.

"There's no need," he said, sighing, and she suddenly noticed that there were three comic books lying on the bed beside him.

"Looks like we've got some stuff to talk about," a voice spoke from the other side of the room and a surprised Willow turned to find none other than Cordelia Chase standing in her bedroom, a serious look on her face.

A face void of any hostility.

The redhead wasn't sure how to react, her head kept spinning back and forth between her oldest friend and biggest bully, waiting for someone to jump in with answers to this new conundrum. But Xander just tapped a finger on the comics and stared at his friend.

"Read these and then, we'll talk."

So Willow did.

She sat down at her desk, pouring all of her attention on the comics, especially once she realized what exactly they were about. It certainly explained why Xander had been so dead-set on getting Jesse and his family out of town.

While she read on and on about losing someone she loved, the bravery her friend hid deep inside him, and the horror of a day that was supposed to be joyous, the other two inhabitants of the small room stared at each other, thinking about their own reactions, earlier in the day.

It had all started in the magic shop.

Cordelia had been more than a little surprised to see Xander Harris in the shop, though certainly not _as _surprised as she would have been one month earlier. Not only because she herself had changed in that time, but because she had noticed his changes, as well.

From his best friend suddenly moving away, with little to no warning, to seeing a more serious look on his face more often, to him actually paying attention in school and saving his goofy grin for rare occasions.

But seeing him in Anita's store had still been a shocker.

She had barely managed to say more than hello to her new friend, when she noted that someone was sat at the table behind the most prominent bookshelf. Curious, since her and Anita were usually alone, besides the occasional customer who dropped in and out within minutes, she stepped around to see who it was.

It definitely hadn't been expected.

Xander had finally heard something; a gasp. He turned to see the face he had abhorred for years, his eyes widening at the sight. They had stood like that for what felt like forever, until Anita had cleared her throat and said, awkwardly, "So, you guys know each other?"

That had broken the silence.

They had talked for hours as the sun set in the distant horizon; about what they had both experienced thirty days ago and what they had each been through in the time since that event. Cordelia talked about the Oracles and what she had learned from them, while Xander explained about the personal changes he was determined to make.

It was the first time in their lives that they had an actual friendly conversation.

When they both came to the conclusion that Willow may be going through the same thing, due to the redhead's own, slightly smaller, changes over the last month, they made the trek to Xander's new home, to wait for the other girl.

One look at the contents of her desk had told them all they needed to know.

Now, Willow finished reading the last comic and going through it all in her head, before turning her attention back on the room itself. That appeared to be Cordelia's cue to tell her own story, one that, unlike Xander's, couldn't be shown.

The mirror didn't save data.

Willow sat quietly and completely still on her desk chair, staring at the statuesque brunette and taking in every word she uttered with absolute attention and interest.

Here she'd thought she was the only one...

The night grew longer and their voices hushed, to keep intruders, in this case Willow's parents, from learning that she was not alone in her room, nor was she asleep.

Tomorrow was a school day, after all.

They talked of everything between Heaven and earth, personal experiences throughout the last thirty days and any plans they had each made to deal with this event. They spoke of Cordelia's visit with the Oracles, Xander's plans to become a better person, and Willow's meeting with Janna and her ideas of practicing magic early on and with, hopefully, healthier results.

By the time they noticed the lateness of the hour, Xander retreated into his own room and, now knowing just how dangerous this town was when the moon was in the sky, Willow made up a bed on the floor for her enemy and bully.

Wondering if she would still hold that title for long.

The girls fell asleep with the same thought racing through their minds; were there others out there, just waiting to be found?

* * *

**Authors Note; **And there you have it, we're more than halfway there now :)

Hope you guys enjoyed it and don't forget to review!

Puppet.


	5. Breaking the Barrier

**Authors Note; **Okay, time for the second-to-last chapter. I struggled a bit with this, because I started out with three fifteen year olds and then jumped directly to a unique Master Vampire, so I hope it doesn't show too much.

I'd love to hear from you whether you thought I captured Spike well, or how I captured him, praise or flames, all is welcome in the Dollhouse :)

Puppet.

* * *

_A hundred and forty-two year old William Nathaniel Pratt was cooped up in an old mining shaft, waiting for the day to end and the moon to rise in the sky. He usually adored these forced lock-ups, spending those hours doting on his Dark Princess... but Dru wasn't with him._

_He was all alone._

_What had begun as a quick feeding just before dawn, had turned into a cramped space and an impatient Vampire._

_This was never a good combination._

_The dust motes blew all around him as he could not, for the unlife of him, keep himself from breathing. It had become second nature to him by now and it was really getting on his last nerve. He prayed for a distraction._

_You should be careful what you wish for._

_A low humming began to build and he wondered if he was no longer as alone as he thought; until he realized that the sound came solely from his own mind._

_And then the hum formed into spoken words._

_"Dawn! Dawn! Are you there?" He heard himself shout in the blackness of his mind._

_"I'm here!" A decidedly female voice cried back, young and certainly not his Sire._

_A few moments of silence passed and then Spike heard sounds of footsteps on stairs, before his own familiar voice spoke unfamiliar words once more._

_"Thank god," he sighed and Spike could almost see the tangible relief surrounding this other him. "You scared me half to death... or more to death. You... I could kill you."_

_And Spike wondered why this other him hadn't._

_"Spike," was all the young girl said, but he could hear the silent plead in her voice for him to listen to her._

_"I mean it. I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brain stem." The voice was clearly angry, but Spike detected a surprising amount of fear and worry as well._

_"Look," she said, still keeping to one word speech for some reason._

_Her voice sounded shocked and dazed._

_In this moment, an image flashed by Spike's eyes; a young, blonde woman, walking slowly down the steps of a suburban house, pain and confusion in her eyes and familiar cuts on her hands. And he could only think of one thing._

_Bloody gorgeous._

_"Yeah?" He heard his voice again and the image disappeared. "I've seen the bloody bot before. Didn't think she'd patch up so..." and the voice tapered off suddenly._

_The voices were gone and no images came to him, but he could still feel the emotions of the unseen him; shock, wonder, joy, hesitance, fear, and so many more. But there was one that stood out amongst the crowd._

_Love._

_His breath now came in heavy shakes as he realized the impossibility of that; of feeling that for anyone that wasn't his Ripe Wicked Plum._

_It would never happen._

_What the bloody hell was going on?_

_Though the voices were gone, his mind kept spinning, this time with his own thoughts. What had it been? How could it be? Who were those two girls?_

_Where was Drusilla?_

_But before he could even begin to ponder the answers to his questions, the hum returned with a bang and quickly formed into voices._

_This time there were no females around._

_And yet it was scarier than the last one._

_"You have endured the required trials," a deep voice intoned, filled with death and danger._

_"Bloody right I have," his counterpart responded, sounding out of breath and in great pain._

_Spike can almost feel the bruises covering his entire body._

_"So, you'll give me what I want. Make me what I was. So Buffy can get what she deserves." Spike wondered who this person with the bloody ridiculous name was and exactly what she deserved._

_"Very well," the voice, clearly that of a Demon, replied. "We will return your soul."_

_A bright light burst before his eyes and he could almost taste the pain, as he heard his own voice screaming in more agony than anything he had ever felt before._

_And then there was only darkness._

_His soul?_

_Spike shook his head and realized that it had finally happened... he had caught crazy from his Sire, though he'd never known it to be contagious._

_Or maybe he hadn't made it to the safety of the mine and this was his own, personal hell._

_Either option was certainly more viable than the fact that it might be reality._

_That it might be in store for him in the years to come._

_Yes, that was it; it wasn't real._

_And just as he had successfully convinced himself of this, the hum began again._

_And, as par for the course, the following was worse than the last two._

_"Go on, then," his voice speaks, a sense of hurry in it._

_"No. No, you've done enough. You could still.."_

_"No, you've beat them back. It's for me to do the cleanup." He responded to the unfamiliar female voice._

_An picture of the beautiful blonde from the only image he'd gotten sprang up in his mind._

_Was it the same woman?_

_"Buffy, come on!" Another female voice cries, but from further away._

_Buffy! Could it be that the blonde he saw was the same one that he had apparently gotten an appalling soul for?_

_Bloody hell._

_"Gotta move, lamb. I think it's fair to say school's out for bloody summer." Spike didn't understand the joke, but was once more riveted to the events being spoken in his head._

_"Spike!" The woman, Buffy, cries out in a horrifyingly worried voice._

_"I mean it! I gotta do this."_

_Suddenly another image passes through his mind, of a pale hand slowly being joined by a tanned, slim one. And then the entwined flesh bursts into flame._

_"I love you." She speaks, tears in her tone._

_He feels himself smiling. "No, you don't. But thanks for saying it." Everything is shaking all around him, he can feel it, and as sudden as it occurred, the flaming image is gone._

_But the voices aren't._

_"Now go!" Spike's voice double cries out and he can feel the woman complying. When he is left all alone, one last sentence is spoken into the emptiness that surrounds him. "I wanna see how it ends."_

_And then he feels himself burn away, until only dust remains._

_And he's gone._

_The Spike sitting in the abandoned mine shaft, the real Spike, is reeling from everything he has been put through, in the last twenty minutes._

_He wanted to go back to before the final scene he had heard; back to convincing denial... but he couldn't._

_He could feel it, deep inside of him, and was left wondering what would become of him now._

_Was it a warning not to let it happen?_

_Or a peek into something he may someday have?_

_Was this his future?_

One month later...

He held the breath he didn't need, waiting for the sound of a pair of footsteps to fade away, so he could get back to the task at hand. He didn't move a single inch, yellow eyes watching the column of the light in the distance.

And then the night guard was gone.

Sure, he could've just eaten him and be done with it, no need to worry about being caught. But for some reason, he'd found it annoyingly difficult to hunt and kill since that strange day happened one month back.

It was bloody irritating.

Spike shook his head and sighed, moving out of his hiding spot and back into the larger basement area. He had information to get his hands on and no one was going to get in his way.

He had gone through too much to get here.

At first, when night had fallen and he had rushed off to locate his missing Sire, he'd vehemently tried to deny that what he had heard could ever be real, in any world. But the thoughts had crept up on him in the days that passed and, coupled with his inability to find Dru, he was forced to take a new look at things.

When he finally tracked the Vampiress down, almost a week after they got separated, she was acting...off. Even for her.

It hadn't taken much needling on his part to learn that she had also been warned of what was coming; of the role he was meant to play in the future, on the side of the retched White Hat's.

It didn't matter how much he denied it, tried to explain to her that it didn't matter, that together they could change things, ensure that those things never happened...Drusilla wouldn't budge.

She kept telling him to go find his Sunshine and Spike knew she wasn't talking about him greeting the sun; she was referring to the blonde woman with the silly name; Buffy.

He had no idea who she was or how to find her, even if he wanted to.

Which he didn't.

But Drusilla wouldn't hear of it; she was done with him.

After everything he had done for her, everything he had _been _for her, over the years; lover, nursemaid, savior, protector...none of it seemed to matter anymore. Not when those ridiculous stars and pixies had told her things that made her throw him to the proverbial wolves.

He couldn't even hate her for it.

Spike was left out in the cold, tossed from the bosom of his home for the past century, all because of some vision that had been given to him. He wanted very much to track down those responsible and make them pay for destroying his happy existence.

Instead, he decided to find answers.

What began as a way to prove to Drusilla that what they had both been shown wasn't real or could be changed, quickly became a journey to figuring out who the women from his visions were, so that he could find them.

He refused to admit that he was feeling protective of them, but it was getting harder and harder to deny.

A last stitch effort, after three weeks of searching, brought him here, to a safely guarded sanctuary of the supernatural in London town.

The Watchers Council.

He hadn't been the least bit surprised by their cockiness; so sure of themselves that they didn't even have any protection against the likes of him. No invite needed, he just walked right in through the back door.

Ponces.

Everything he was looking for, and more, could be found in one of the many lower level basements of the large building. He'd been here less than an hour and was already beginning to question how to carry everything he'd found out of here in just one trip.

Thankfully the answer came to him when he remembered the man he'd met last year, the man he knew was currently in London.

Dalton stepped inside, having finally gotten around the security guard, and joined Spike by the many file cabinets. He was a bookish type, but that meant smart, and was exactly what the older Vampire was looking for at the moment.

He had originally gotten in touch with the younger Demon in order to get assistance in finding the cure for Drusilla's illness. But now, with her insistence that he keep away from her, he was forced to forget it and just silently pray she would find the answer herself.

Whether she left or not didn't mean he wanted her to dust.

"I need you to get these things out of here and to the safe place we discussed," he said, not bothering to even say hello.

Dalton simply nodded meekly in reply and began gathering up the papers and notes lying on a research table nearby. While he was gone, Spike would continue looking.

Even if he wasn't entirely sure _what _he was looking for.

So far he'd managed to uncover some of the Council's dirtiest secrets; shaking his head when he learned that they kept such evidence in such an obvious place. They couldn't possibly be as intelligent as they were often perceived to be.

One such thing was what few Watchers knew; the real reason for the ritual known as the Cruciamentum.

Spike had found accounts that proved that not all Slayers who turned eighteen had undergone this. In fact, of the two Chosen Ones that he had killed, both over eighteen, only the one in the seventies had been forced through the ritual.

It didn't take much thought to figure out why.

That, however, was just one in a pile of laundry that was in desperate need of a dry cleaner; he'd never seen such dirt in one place and he'd been around for a very long time.

All of that was now being carried out by Dalton, who would return in another half hour to pick up the next load; now all Spike had to do was find it.

He soon stumbled across everything the Watchers had on him and his family, dating back to when the Master was first turned, more than six hundred years ago.

Not only did he not want that kind of information in the wrong hands, which he definitely saw the Council as, but you never knew when something like that would come in handy. He emptied out several cabinets, all pertaining to the Aurelian Order, until there wasn't a single trace left of their existence.

It made him tingle with glee.

_Bloody wonderful._

The next interesting cabinet he came to made him grin; it held the information on a previous Slayer known as Sophie Carstensen. Even after fifty years since her death, they still hadn't been able to figure out who had been responsible for her death.

Which explained why Spike's own profile still only listed two Slayers to his name...

He also grabbed that, wanting to read it later when he got the time. See what was being said and why no one knew it was him; after all, he remembered that night and the Watcher definitely got a good look at him.

A Watcher he knew was still alive and currently Head of Council; Quentin Travers.

He was getting ready to stack everything up for Dalton to grab when he returned, when he got a strange feeling traveling down his spine. He couldn't quite explain it, but it felt...off, somehow.

It didn't take long for him to realize that it happened when he passed a bookshelf near the back of the basement room. He walked back and forth in front of the wooden shelves, brows furrowed and coat swishing out behind him, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

The best theory he had was that the Vampires used in the Cruciamentum ritual were kept back there, except that the weird tingle didn't feel anything like his kind usually did on his senses.

He sighed and stepped closer, hovering his hand inches from the actual shelf, hoping to get a feel for what was going on. All he got were more questions. Reading the titles on the books stacked in front of him didn't help any.

Or did they...

None of them made any sense and, if there was anything he had learned about the Watchers in the past hour, it was that things always made sense. Every single cabinet and file in the room was neatly alphabetized and yet, this bookcase...wasn't.

Almost as if they didn't care how it looked.

Because it wasn't the books that were important.

"It's what's behind them," he muttered to himself, before smiling brightly and moving forward to pull the bookcase away.

Away from the secret opening hiding behind it.

It was a door and, as Spike had already mentioned, the Watchers were cocky and confident enough to not have any lock on this gateway, other than the regular, easily broken, kind. He smirked to himself, busted through the steel lock and walked inside.

His insides felt like alarm bells were going off; this was definitely where that strange feeling had come from.

Except that there was only one thing in the room and it made absolutely no sense.

In the middle of the small room was a column made of stone and on that column of stone stood an urn with unfamiliar markings on it. The urn was covered by a lid and Spike hadn't lived as long as he had by being stupid, so he knew better than to remove said lid.

Not until he knew more.

He held his breath as he walked closer, hands resting on his hips, staring at the dusty urn before him. It was important, somehow he knew that. The Watchers may not have a separate guard for this secret door, but the way it was set up made its importance more than clear.

They wanted to keep this hidden...but from whom?

A second look around the room revealed a box at the back of the column. A box he was sure held information on just what the urn held and why it was kept this way. He smiled when he heard the arrival of Dalton, quickly calling him into the room.

"You grab the stuff out on the desk; I want to be the only one touching this," he stated, before snapping his fingers, demanding a bag be put in his hands.

He carefully packed away the fragile urn, throwing the strap of the bag over his shoulder, before bending down to grab the large and heavy trunk box in his hands. It wasn't heavy, though he WAS a Vampire, but he still felt confused.

He had been so sure there were books inside, but maybe he was mistaken?

Shrugging it off, for now, he followed Dalton through the basement levels, up to the main one and out the door. Together they walked the fifteen minutes through London sewers until they got to their safe place. Without speaking a word, Spike set down his bounty and quickly made his way back.

Back to the Council; he had one last thing to check on.

As he walked all the way back, he thought it over in his head. He needed to know who the Slayer was; he couldn't go into the Watchers Council, the Slayer Mecca, without leaving with that information.

They didn't call him the Slayer of Slayers for nothing.

Another smirk touched his lips as he broke the latch on Travers' office; this place really had pathetic security. Then again, that might change once they realized that someone had been in there. He'd broken the camera feeds before they could spot him, so they'd never figure out _who _it was, just that it was _someone_.

Spike rifled through the papers on Quentin's desk, looking through file after boring file, but none of it was what he was searching for. Then, as if by Fate itself, his hand struck the mouse and the computer screen lit up.

No password needed, because the ponce was still logged on.

He cracked his knuckles with a grin on his face and began going through the Watcher's personal and professional files.

He ended up staying at the office almost as long as he did in the basement; because he found even more secrets here. The printer was working overtime, while Spike made sure to erase any trace of the documented proof; when he was done here, he'd be the only one with evidence.

Something he may need to hold over their heads someday.

When he was getting ready to shut it down and get out of there, for good this time, he came across the exact file he'd been looking for. He hadn't thought much of it before, but when in contrast to the other files in that same computer folder, it suddenly made sense.

The other files were numbered, but what had first appeared as random, now showed a pattern. For example, one of them was called 1970-1977; the years that Nicole Joanne Wood had been the Chosen One.

So with this knowledge in mind, he pressed the cursor on the file marked 1996-?. What he wasn't expecting was what he found.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, as the face of the woman from his visions stared back at him. "She's the Slayer?"

He quickly scanned his eyes over the written text and that's when he saw it. Her name was Elizabeth Anne Summers, but ever since she was a child she had gone by...

_Buffy._

Spike leaned back in the leather chair, all the breath suddenly gone from the room as he stared into the green eyes of the woman he would someday come to love. The _Slayer _he would get a soul for.

Not a single one of the last thirty days could've possibly prepared him for this.

_Bloody hell, indeed._

* * *

**Authors Note; **I'm aware that canon has Sophie Carstensen's Watcher as someone else and that this would mean Travers would be in his seventies, but go with me here people. Besides, I have a plan that might just make it possible for Quentin to still not be too old, so wait and see before you complain :)

Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it and don't forget to review.

Puppet.


	6. City of Change

**Authors Note; **Here's the final installment in this interlude. I won't be posting the second story immediately, but hopefully you won't have to wait too long for it :)

Hope you guys enjoy xD

Puppet.

* * *

_Fifteen year old Buffy Anne Summers was twisting and turning in her bed, wracked with terribly nightmares and horrid images. Monsters and death and young girls fighting for their lives._

_She had no idea that this was the night that the Slayer died._

_The night she was Chosen._

_Before she could be forced awake by the scream building in her throat, something took siege of her dreams; controlled them to their desire._

_Her sheets wrapped around her body and sweat clung to her exposed skin as the first image flashed by her sleeping mind._

_A handsome man, a stone statue and a declaration of love._

_Followed by the murder done by her own hands._

_She wanted to wake up, wanted the nightmares to stop, wanted to run to her mothers embrace and will all the pictures away._

_But she couldn't._

_All she could do was keep watching._

_The pain in those brown eyes as something blue sucked him away from her. Falling to her knees as the sorrow and grief overtook her and she sobbed until her entire body was numb. Sunlight burning her eyes as she stepped out into the morning, sure that nothing would ever be the same again._

_What had she done? Why had she murdered a man in cold blood? Why had she done it, if it was killing her now?_

_What was happening to her?_

_The flashes changed and suddenly she was standing on a rickety tower, an unfamiliar, yet familiar, girl by her side. They were speaking in hushes, but she couldn't hear what was being said. She could only feel the invisible string of feeling passing from the young girl to herself, and back._

_They loved each other deeply._

_The next thing she knows is running away from the brunette girl, throwing herself off the tower and being wracked entirely by the excruciating agony of a blueish, crackling ball of electricity._

_A portal, a voice whispered in her mind._

_Before she could consider the added horror of this second flash, it happened again and she whimpered in her sleep._

_If someone had been in her room, they would've heard her whimper out loud._

_But no one was there._

_A third image appeared in her mind and she pleaded with it to stop._

_But this one wasn't painful._

_It was... breathtaking._

_A gorgeous man with bleached hair, stunning blue eyes and prominent cheekbones was kneeling before her, speaking words she never thought would be aimed in her direction._

_And it would have brought her to her knees, had she not been lying in her bed._

_"You listen to me. I've been alive a bit longer than you, and dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done things I prefer you didn't. I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain. So, I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of wrong bloody calls. A hundred plus years, and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of; you."_

_She watches herself look away and wants to scream profanity at her twin. But it's unnecessary; the strange beauty pulls her by the chin, until he catches her eyes again._

_"Hey, look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I say I love you it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy."_

_She came awake with a gasp, shooting up in her bed and accidentally throwing a few things off her nightstand with the swipe of her hand._

_"Oh god, what was that?"_

_Her eyes blinked in rapid succession as she tried to conjure up a valid and logical reason for what she had just witnessed. Heart pounding in her chest, she lay a hand over it and closed her eyes._

_But all she saw was an ocean of blue._

_And all she heard was a deep, baritone voice._

_"You're the one, Buffy."_

_Was it possible?_

_Could this gorgeous man be her future?_

One month later...

"What do you think of this one?" She asked, laying a picture out on the table.

Buffy's face wrinkled and she shook her head. "Nah, that one's kinda lame," she said, urging her mother to get on with the next one.

The two Summers women were going over inventory from Joyce's art gallery, of which she was part-owner. It was something that never would have happened last month.

But the blonde girl had changed.

"But what is lame, Buffy? You have to explain to me why you think this doesn't fit?" Joyce spoke, looking at her daughter with searching eyes.

The teenage girl leaned back in her seat and chewed on her bottom lip as she thought, while staring at the picture of a piece of African American art. She tilted her head slightly to side and then put the photograph into the pile of unwanted pieces.

"This is a Moroccan showing and not only is this piece not Moroccan, it is _obviously _not Moroccan," she finally said in response to her mother's question.

Joyce smiled; that's exactly what she herself had thought when she saw it. "Alright, that's gone. I'll save it for another exhibit we've got coming up. Now, let's continue."

It was amazing how much could change in thirty days.

Buffy had, like the other four that Fate had intervened with, tried to deny it at first. But when a man called Merrick approached her and she noticed her heightened senses and strength, not only did she realize that her horrific dreams were real...but that it meant the chances of the rest being real as well were pretty high.

She didn't tell her Watcher about it; she didn't know or trust him enough, yet.

Not to mention having no idea what the visions she had experienced in her dreams meant. She knew she needed to figure that out, before she could figure out her next move.

But that didn't mean that changes couldn't happen, all on their own.

In light of that amazing speech, by someone who _wasn't _her boyfriend, Buffy promptly dumped Tyler; she wanted the kind of love she had felt emanating from that bleach blond hunk from her dreams. And for once, one of her dream men might actually not be out of range for her.

That thought still sent shivers up and down her spine, even a month later.

Without even meaning to, Buffy had slowly but surely phased out of her popular crowd of friends. It certainly wasn't done on purpose, but with her new responsibilities as the Slayer, on top of the heavy thoughts of her dream visions, there just hadn't been time and the girls had fallen through the cracks.

She had felt bad for all of two seconds, and then those same so-called friends turned their backs on her; Margo even went to the dance with Tyler.

Exes were supposed to be off limits.

Thoughts of the dance brought her back two weeks; to a night that became as memorable as the night of the dream visions.

The night she had lost her Watcher to the Vampires, the night she had set fire to the school gymnasium in order to destroy the Vampires, the night she had dusted Lothos, and the night she was expelled from Hemery High.

It was quite the night.

Unfortunately her parents saw it the same way.

At this moment in time, sitting at the kitchen table and going over pictures of art for the gallery opening, Joyce could honestly say that she was proud of the changes that her daughter had gone through. But she hadn't exactly felt that way two weeks prior to this day.

It was a testament of Buffy's strength and determination that it had only taken ten days to regain her mother's trust; even if she was sure she'd never do the same with her father, even if she lived to be a hundred.

She did her best to shrug off the emotional pain of that, though, and move forward in her relationship with her mom. She clung to it, knowing it was all she had, for however long.

She had seen the dream visions and knew that even the first one, the earliest one, was still years away; she definitely hadn't looked fifteen in it.

But she hadn't really had too much time to focus on such things, far too busy with her life and the mess she had unintentionally made of it in recent weeks.

The Council had yet to send her a new Watcher, but she had gotten a letter saying that they were working on it. Apparently the tweed-Monsters didn't grow on trees over there in the land of tea and crumpets.

Who'd have thought?

Buffy's confusion caused by her dream visions had kept her from telling her parents the real reason why she had burned down the gym; the Slayer had no idea that it had saved her from a stint in a mental institution.

She would also not be making the trip to Las Vegas to slay Vampires, as she would have originally.

The Fates had really screwed with the order of things.

Joyce gathered the photos together and placed them back in her briefcase, giving her daughter a kiss on the cheek before she left the house. She had a meeting at the gallery in half and hour, before Buffy would meet her at the grocery store so they could make dinner together.

Buffy's father had left them after the debacle with the school fire and the divorce papers had come in the mail three days ago. Joyce thought she had kept them hidden, but her daughter had found them.

She wasn't sure how to feel about it; sad, guilty, relieved...

So she just pushed her emotions to the back of the pile and decided to figure it out later, when time had begun to heal some of the wounds.

It may not be healthy, but Buffy had never claimed to be smart when it came to matters of the heart.

She looked around the kitchen and realized that she had nothing to do until it was time to meet up with her mother in about three hours. Her shoulders fell and she sighed; she hated being bored.

She cleared the table of the cups they'd been drinking out of and put them in the sink to be cleaned up later, before making a quick run to her room to grab some essentials and her lightest summer coat.

Stuffing some stakes and knives all around her body, she placed her grandmother's cross around her neck and locked up the door behind her.

If there was anything living (and slaying) in Los Angeles had taught her, it was that Vampires were the only creatures who only came out at night.

Which gave her something to do.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm actually wishing for a Watcher right now," she mumbled to herself as she followed the Demon down the alleyway.

She had stabbed it in the heart with a stake and it had just kept on going; she really needed to know how this species were supposed to be killed.

Buffy had been wandering down the part of town that wasn't quite wrong, but not quite right either. A place in between Hollywood starlets and gangs who did drive-by's. It hadn't taken her long to find her first Demon, which had led her here, hunting her third.

And not even an hour had passed, yet, since she left home.

Her steps were silent as she made her way down the surprisingly dark alley, considering the sun was still high in the sky. She could hear the Demon but couldn't quite figure out where it was and worried that it might jump out at her when she wasn't prepared.

It didn't help that Buffy had gotten a bit overconfident after taking out Lothos.

Thankfully for the Slayer, this Demon was dumb enough to let out a battle cry _before _it attacked, giving the blonde girl more than enough time to brace for the coming onslaught and protect herself.

She kicked and punched and sliced but the damn thing just wouldn't die.

"Argh," she cried out as she was tossed through a rusted door into the building behind her.

She landed harshly on the dust coated floor of the abandoned warehouse, cringing against the pain and trying to prepare herself for the following attack. She grabbed up her longest, sharpest weapon; a knife from Merrick's personal collection.

A few minutes later a heavily panting Slayer stood over the body of the Demon, holding its head in one of her hands.

Apparently decapitation was the way to go.

Finally.

She slowly moved backwards, dropped the head so it rolled away from her, and collapsed against one of the walls. She may have Slayer stamina, but she was still so new to her Calling that there were some parts of training that simply wasn't complete yet.

The correct breathing patterns during a fight wasn't something her and Merrick had worked too much on, probably because the Watcher had assumed there would be time for that later.

Buffy leaned against the wall, wincing when she cracked her back, laying the knife down on the floor beside her. She would need to clean it before it could go back in its scabbard, considering it was now almost completely drenched in Demon blood and goo.

_Ew._

She lay her head to rest against the wall and breathed deeply, in and out, doing her best to calm herself down. She now wondered if maybe she shouldn't just go back home, take a shower, and wait until she had to meet her mother at the grocery store.

She'd done pretty well for herself, after all; three Demons dead and in the daytime, too.

When she nodded to herself, choice made, she suddenly heard a strange noise from somewhere in front of her and to the left. Her brows furrowed and she slowly rose from the ground, blinking open her eyes to find out what was happening.

It quickly became clear to her that, at the other end of the room, a light was slowly building.

She recognized its purpose from her dreams; it was a portal.

It didn't take long for it to grow to very amazing and large proportions and Buffy somehow knew, instinctively, that the only reason she was safe from being pulled in, was because she stood so far away. Before long, the portal filled the entire back wall and was swirling like some kind of vortex.

And then, more suddenly than it had arrived, it was gone.

But the room now had one more occupant.

Buffy stared at the emerald green skin, the long dark hair, and the red horns, and pulled out her weapons; a knife in one hand, a stake in the other. And then she approached the Demon that was slowly rising to its feet, a confused look on its face.

But confusion turned to fear when it saw her coming.

Which made her pause, slightly.

Why would a Demon be afraid of her, especially before it even knew that she was the Slayer? Buffy may not have studied other dimensions, but she'd seen movies and understood that that's where this being came from. And she was guessing that Slayers probably didn't exist in that world.

So why was he now looking at her like she was the monster?

"Please," it spoke, holding up its hands in a universal sign of peace. "Do not hurt me, please. I mean you no harm."

Buffy tilted her head to the side and frowned. "You're a Demon," she said, as if that explained it all.

But it just kept staring at her. "Yes, I know, but I am not evil, I give you my word."

She wanted to tell it that its word really didn't mean that much to her, but two things made her stop; the fact that this conversation was nothing like how Demons usually spoke to her, beyond death threats really, and that look in its eyes.

It seemed almost...gentle.

Buffy let her hands drop a little, trying to show the Demon that she was, at the very least, willing to listen to it. It seemed to sigh for a moment, though still kept as still as possible, probably afraid that to move a muscle was to indicate a threat and it had no interest in dying.

Buffy could understand _that_.

She backed away a few feet more, but kept her eyes on both the creature and the two exits, just in case. This left the frightened Demon to relax enough to take a look around, at this strange new world it now found itself in.

"Where is this?" it whispered, amazed and a good deal scared as well.

"Los Angeles," Buffy answered, keeping her voice cool and detached from the situation.

It turned to look at her again, its crimson red eyes somehow not as scary as Buffy felt they should be. "And where is this...Los Angeles?"

She stared at it, clenching her weapons tightly as she tried not to relax; it wasn't going to get her to let down her guard. "It's a city in America, which is a country in the world. Though I suppose I get if you're still confused. After all, you came through a portal, which means you're in another dimension from your own." She decided just to let all the cards on the table so they could get things over with.

Its eyes widened and it took a step back, shocked and still confused. Buffy finally noticed the rest of its appearance. It wore a strangely old fashioned outfit, of what she supposed the Warriors of centuries ago wore to battle. Surprisingly enough, though, it wasn't carrying any weapons.

Weird.

The hair was long and grimy, with leaves and branches sticking to it, but she supposed that it came from the trip through the portal, because the clothing was otherwise prim and clean.

Not exactly the look of a fighter.

Buffy came to a realization. "You're not evil, are you?" She asked, relaxing inside but still staying alert on the outside.

Just in case.

Its eyes widened again. "No, no, not at all. I do not blame you for assuming that, but, no, no. I try to look at the beauty of life," it spoke, smiling a little.

And then Buffy decided to stop thinking of the Demon as it.

It was clearly a him.

She stepped a little closer. "I'm not ready to let my guard down, but I won't attack if you don't."

The Demon seemed to sigh with his whole body. "Thank you."

Buffy returned the words with a smile that, while not very big, was definitely genuine. She didn't try to step any closer, though she did feel better with each passing second that she looked at the seemingly benign being in front of her.

The silence around them suddenly turns awkward as neither knew what to say next. They were caught at a stalemate, not quite fighting but not exactly friendly, either.

Buffy chews on her bottom lip and begins to hum under her breath, trying not to let the awkwardness get to her. She thinks of the song she heard on the radio the previous day and releases a small sound as her eyes try to look anywhere but at the Demon.

Which means she misses his reaction as he reads her without meaning to.

"Wow," he breathes and she finally looks up at him.

"What?" She replies, brows furrowed and mouth frowning.

He clears his throat. "Uh, what you were doing just then...I do not know what happened, but I saw something...lovely."

Buffy thought back to two seconds ago, trying to figure out what he meant. "You mean the humming? And what do you mean you saw something?"

He didn't know how to explain it himself. "It was like...pictures in my head. I, uh, do not know how else to phrase it."

Buffy thought of her dreams last month and her silent idea that it may have been the intervention of Fate and wondered if this Demon had some kind of ability that allowed him to see something in her...when she hummed?

She shook her head. _Nah, that sounds pretty ridiculous._

The Slayer sighed and finally put away her weapons, walking up to the Demon and holding out her hand. "My name is Buffy Summers." This time her smile was a bit brighter and still just as genuine.

Though unfamiliar with the gesture, he was a quick learner and put his own hand in hers. "I am Krevlornswath of the Deathwokclan."

Buffy smiled and shook his hand. "That's a mouthful, isn't it." She looked at the color of his skin and snorted as she remembered her mother's music collection. "I think I'll call you Lorne."

* * *

She walked into the kitchen and grabbed her bag from the table, quickly checking to see if she had everything she needed. She had packed some food, clothing, and other necessities to bring to Lorne, now that he'd had a good night's sleep.

They had spoken for a while the day before, until it was time for Buffy to go meet up with her mother, and she'd learned that there was definitely something about him. His job was to investigate this thing, while taking a look around the new dimension he was in, and the two could discuss things when Buffy returned today.

Unlike yesterday, the Slayer would have all the time in the world to help out Lorne. Two hours ago Joyce had gotten on a plane to go see her sister, Arlene, in Illinois. The two women were going to sit down and discuss the future for Buffy and her mother, now that the blonde was black listed from most of the schools in California State and Hank had left the small family.

Joyce's return flight was the next morning and, with no school to go to, Buffy was taking a cab to pick her up tomorrow.

She threw the messenger bag over her body and grabbed the house keys, locking up behind her. As always, the weather was beautiful and the sun was shining brightly in the sky above. She couldn't actually remember the last time she'd needed a jacket although, thanks to her mother, she always carried one with her.

Buffy made her way down the streets of Los Angeles on her way to go see Lorne. They were meeting up back at the same abandoned building where she'd found him yesterday to try and figure out what would happen next. Buffy truly felt for him and couldn't imagine what it was like to be in such a strange, new world.

But Lorne had insisted; he wasn't going back home. So the one thing they _weren't _doing was looking for a way to open the portal back up.

Which was a kind of relief for the Slayer who wouldn't know how to go about that, anyway.

The blonde walked past a few stores and cafes as she went through the main part of the city, never noticing the young redhead that walked unseen past her. Nor did she note the young gypsy that was getting up from a table at one of the aforementioned cafes.

But she noticed her.

"Buffy Summers?" Janna asked, reaching out a hand to touch the familiar blonde.

"Uh, hey, do I know you?" She asked, slightly unsure but knowing that her senses didn't say anything, which meant she was human.

The woman smiled and shook her head. "No, Ms. Summers, you don't, but your reputation precedes you. I'm Janna Morgan and I know that you're the newest Slayer."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh, wow, I didn't realize word traveled so fast. So, how do you know about Slayers and Demons?"

"I was raised a Romany," she explained, but almost chuckled at the look of confusion on the young blonde's face. "It's a gypsy, Ms. Summers. You _do _know what that is," she said, laughter in her eyes.

Buffy's own eyes rolled. "Yeah, I do. So I guess you grew up on this stuff. I'm still trying to get used to it. After what happened yesterday I won't be able to deny much of it anymore, though," she sighed, thinking of the feeling she had watching an actual honest to god portal opening up right in front of her.

Janna's brows raised. "What happened, Ms. Summers?"

The Slayer looked at the other woman with a calculating eye and then put her arm through the tanner elbow. "Call me Buffy and I'll tell you." The two walked down the street, heading toward the building that would someday be known as Caritas.

* * *

The board showed that her mother's plane would be landing any minute now and she put down her magazine so she could get ready to search the crowd for that familiar face.

What she wasn't expecting was the extra amount of familiar faces.

"Aunt Arlene?" She said, staring wide-eyed at her mother's sister and the three kids that followed.

"Cousin Buffy," the youngest cried out, running over to grab the blonde's leg, hugging it tightly.

The Slayer smiled down at the tiny girl and reached out to ruffle her hair. "Hi, Maggie, how's my cutest cousin doing?"

Her almost toothless grin was the only reply given.

"Hi, honey," a tired Joyce spoke, walking over to give her daughter a hug. "I know I didn't mention any of this on the phone, but it was kind of last minute. Let's talk about it when we get back to the house."

Buffy wanted to argue, but she just frowned and nodded. "Okay, mom. Need any help with the luggage?"

The trip home was full of somewhat meaningless conversation about what everyone had been up to lately. Buffy's rebellious streak was somehow awkwardly avoided, as they spoke of Maggie's start in first grade, Griffin's continuing streak of straight As, and Scout's upcoming sweet sixteen.

Buffy tried not to sulk and instead thought of the previous day, when her and Janna had gone to help Lorne find his new place in the world. Her family could brag all they wanted of their human accomplishments, but at least the Slayer actually made a difference in the world itself.

She saved people, dammit.

Buffy and Janna had talked all the way to the abandoned building and by the time they arrived to be welcomed by the emerald colored Demon, the Slayer and gypsy knew a lot more about one another and it was the second friendship that day that Janna had embarked upon.

Not aware of the changes those two meetings would make someday soon.

The three of them spent most of the day cleaning out the back of the building to make a home for Lorne. They managed to get their hands on a bed and some furniture, for the time being. For less than fifteen hours they'd also build quite an extraordinary bond, one that would extend into the future even when they lived miles apart.

She had finished the night off with a quick patrol, while she left Janna to help Lorne learn the most dangerous places in the city to avoid, considering how peaceful he was for a Demon.

She should probably look into that at some point.

The cab pulled up in front of the Summers home and the now much larger family started filing into the house with their luggage. Buffy wasn't sure how she should feel about the obvious signs that Aunt Arlene and her cousins weren't going to be leaving anytime soon.

The blonde had no idea that this part of her future had also changed, simply because Joyce wasn't too busy dealing with her rebellious daughter to go help her sister with her dangerous boyfriend who was stalking her. Joyce's presence had given Arlene the strength to pack up her kids and leave her old home behind.

Buffy's aunt and cousins wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

And when it came time for the move to Sunnydale, things would surely become even more interesting.

Just you wait and see.

* * *

**Authors Note; **I know that Jenny didn't know about Buffy's Slayer status until Giles told her in canon, but her look of surprise could've have been as fake as her identity. Just go with it, people! :)

Hope you enjoyed it and don't forget to review.

Puppet.


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